// Doors.

"He walked through their old house alone, quietly closing the doors.

Inside the rooms, he could hear the slight echoes of the pleasurable times past, each one as whispy as a breath. He took a moment, to listen and mark the memory, before he slowly, reverently, permanently, closed the doors.

It never ocurred to him to ask if he was acting rashly or prematurely.

It never ocurred to him to even consider the possibility that someday, far ahead of him, he or someone close to him, might want to open them up again. He didn't anticipate that anyone would be permitted the access to his old home, ever again. How would they ever get close enough to touch his heart?

Instead, he slowly closed off the doors where she used to live and play and firmly locked them shut with the finality of an Act Done For The Last Time.

For himself, he left only the meager quarters that he needed to live in. A small, sparse room with its' humble three shelf library in the corner and a single bed. The tiny kitchenette with a small window that afforded a little light and a view of a bare, brick wall. The butlers pantry, where the foodstuffs were stored. And the small water closet, where he sat folded up and soaked in the cold, claw-foot tub, shivering.

This was the only bit of real estate that he permitted for himself. Its sparcity reflected his own resignation. It was all that he felt he deserved.

This pale, gaunt, ghost of a man, wordlessly wandered the hallways of his ancient Victorian home, lingering sadly at the many doors before he closed them off, one at a time.

Never to open them again."